


Storm and Fire

by insight



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Baby on board, Castiel may actually want to throw Dean into the freakin' sun, Castiel's homeland, Castiel/Dean Winchester UST, Corsica symbolises all the hot mess that is the show's Issues, Cultural Differences, Cultural Values, Delivering what the show dropped the ball on: Dean in space!, Destination: The Gates, Hate to Love, Intercultural relationship, M/M, Meta about the show's misogyny racism and xenophobia, Puddlejumpers, Rogue Castiel, Royalty, Science Fiction, Scific and the marginalised, Solaris - Freeform, Space opera AU, The AU where the 'villains' win, Torture, s4 Castiel telling Dean 'You need to stop it', the perspective of immigrants
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-10 20:12:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4405916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insight/pseuds/insight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is a smuggler who has kidnapped Prince Dean of Corsica.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

At first, nothing seems to make sense to him and he raises his head groggily. As his vision gradually sharpens, he catches sight of a plush-looking leather-lined seat a few feet in front of him. On either side of the seat are a console and a large window through which the darkness of space can be seen. A sudden motion catches his attention- an arm reaching out, and the console glowing as the hand moves over it.

Dean takes a deep breath and takes stock of the situation- his wrists and feet are tightly bound, and he can still feel the strong grip on his throat, the memory of that bastard smuggler half-pulling and half-strangling him before smashing his fist into Dean's face hard enough to set off livid fireworks behind Dean's eyes before everything went dark. One thing's for sure- the smuggler is a strong fucker.

Dean knows he's in deep shit because he's been kidnapped by one of the most notorious smugglers on Corsica, the one who evaded multiple layers of security for several years only to be caught in the net that Dean's genius brother spun...although, Dean's not so sure anymore that Castiel Maelstrom had ever been caught, that this was all in fact a ploy on the smuggler's part to get access to...Dean's eyes widen as the idea hits him over the head with the force of a two-by-four.

'I'd rather throw myself out of the airlock,' Dean growls from where he's lying on the floor of the puddlejumper.

'Tough words for a man who's trussed up like particularly exotic fowl,' an amused voice drawls back. 'Although, rest assured that you are one of the more 'prized' variety.'

Dean sets his jaw tightly as the man in the chair turns to stare at him. The face is very familiar, handsome even now that the blood and dust has been washed off, unmarked and young, lean jawline and vivid blue eyes, under a messy flyaway mop of black hair. He doesn't look strong enough to have taken Dean down despite his toned frame but looks are always deceiving. Dean notices that despite the fact that Maelstrom has had the time to wipe himself down, he hasn't availed himself of a shirt just yet which for some unfathomable reason irritates Dean to no end.

'What is this? What do you want?' Dean says loudly, trying to make himself sound all the things he isn't: bored, scornful, indifferent.

The smuggler's eyebrows raise and he tilts his head down at Dean, an amused smirk on his sun-browned face, 'I think you already know what I want, princess.'

Dean glares at him with the fury of a thousand solar flares.

Castiel's smirk widens even more before he turns back to the controls, airily remarking, 'I must admit that this has been one of my more exciting smuggling ventures: I didn't expect to be flirted with by my so-called captor, your lovely face always up in my grill, a well-placed and may I add nicely-toned thigh up in my crotch, and damn, did you know that I have something of a uniform fetish? Very obliging of you, Winchester.'

Dean gapes, flustered to be called out on all the little moves he'd put on Maelstrom back when he'd been under Corsica's lock and key. He hardly knows what to say before he blusters, 'Don't objectify me!'

There's a short silence in which Dean can distinctly hear the smuggler silently laughing at him. It only makes Dean angrier and he struggles harder against his restraints, 'And, hey, didn't you hear me? What do you want? Answer me, coward! My team will slaughter you when they find you-'

Dean doesn't realise that his voice is trembling until he cuts himself off.

The fact that Maelstrom doesn't reply back with a glib comment only confirms Dean's suspicions. And everything in Dean rallies up against the idea of what the smuggler is actually doing and he finds strength in the fury, righteousness burning through him at the injustice. 'I'll fight you every step of the way, don't think I won't. I've been fighting you dirty smugglers all my life and the times that I've come across those lowest-of-shit smugglers who deal in the human trade have been few and far between but I've beheaded one of them who tried to do the same to me as what you're doing. I'll be damned if you're going to be selling me into what my family and I have been fighting against our whole lives. I'd rather die.'

Dean's breathing hard when he finishes and he doesn't flinch in the frigid silence that ensues, doesn't flinch as the smuggler stands up- filthy slave trader- and walks over on silent bare feet, crouches down and grabs Dean's chin in a rough hand. Dean can feel long fingers digging savagely into his cheek and jaw and thinks that this man could easily crush his face without a second's thought: Dean finds himself trembling again and curses at himself.

There's a fierce, indomitable look on Maelstrom's face as he tugs their faces close together, their mouths almost intimately close. Dean can smell the sweat and warm, subdued energy of him. Dean's once again reminded of the many myriad of ways that he imagined having his way with this man when Maelstrom was under Dean's thumb. And the one time that Dean had watched this smuggler as he was first brought down to the dungeons, personally overseen the whole process of his men strip-searching Maelstrom, and being _badwrong_ turned-on by Maelstrom's utter lack of shame at his own nudity, the cavalier curve of his smile even as he stared hotly at Dean the whole time.

And, oh, how those tables have turned now but it still doesn't stop Dean's gaze from instinctively dropping to the smuggler's lush mouth before swallowing and looking up again. Malestrom's insanely blue eyes glitter as he forces Dean to look at him straight-on, 'Your family took something from my family. I want it back and you're my perfect leverage, sweetheart.'

Dean narrows his eyes and scowls up at the man because he is _nobody's_ sweetheart, how dare this ruffian keep calling him names like that as well as _princess_! Dean's surprised to see a flicker of fondness in his captor's eyes before it's wiped away, and the man squats more fully and hauls Dean up to rest against his thigh. Dean can't help thinking that it is a very firm thigh even as he sneers and glares some more only to give a sudden start when Maelstrom bends further. There's hot breath against Dean's ear, wet-soft whisper against the shell of it, 'In the meantime, I think you should know that I have just as much of a reputation for playing with my captives as you seem to do. Turn-about's fair play after all, don't you think?' Dean's lips tighten because otherwise they'd be trembling from the weight of being seduced and threatened at the same time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel Maelstrom and Prince Dean have the equivalent of a car-argument.

The heightened tension between Dean and the smuggler is suddenly interrupted by the sound of a burble and tiny wail. Maelstrom gets up quickly from looming over Dean and without the support of the smuggler's body, Dean tumbles gracelessly back to the ground with a grunt. Maelstrom strides to the control panel and shifts the 'jumper into cruise control while quickly hauling on a battered leather jacket over his tanned chest.

Dean has still not recovered from the shock of knowing that there is---- 'Why is there a _baby_ in the 'jumper? I want you to tell me that this a space hallucination due to the no-doubt oxyen deprivation that I am suffering in your pile of trash 'jumper, Maelstrom! Because if that is an actual baby then I am gonna fight you! I am gonna fight you and throw you into the freakin' sun! 

Maelstrom looked unimpressed even as he paced to the side of the 'jumper where the small cries were coming from. Dean had noticed the child-sized jumper-seat but hadn't given it much thought as it was slanted away from him. Now he watched as Maelstrom released the safety straps on the thing and lifted a small swaddled-in-blankets infant out.

Dean closed his eyes and said in deathly quiet tones, 'You don't kidnap actual babies unless you are the bottom-feeding scum of Corsica.'

'I am not Corsican,' Maelstrom replies blandly, even as he pulled the blankets away from the infant and smiled somewhat dorkily down at the child. The child continued to make unhappy noises, smacking a tiny angry fist into Maelstrom's tanned chest and wriggling in his arms.

Dean glared at him hatefully and hissed 'Scum!'

'I found myself in need of a protégé, and so I took her away with me to teach. I raised her from the scum that is Corsica,' Maelstrom said with a small frown at Dean and a worried look at the agitated child, even as he rocked about awkwardly in an effort to quieten the child. The child wouldn't be consoled, though. 

Dean was secretly pleased that the kid seemed to be giving Maelstrom as much hell as Dean was, but he was not pleased at Maelstrom's view on Corsica.

'You will not say a word against Corsica! It is the finest land in all the galaxy! It is the-'

'You are blind to the misogyny, racism and xenophobia rampant in your precious citadel and lands,' Castiel cut in tightly.

Dean's mouth hung open.

Castiel glanced at him, 'Glad to hear the truth shuts you up.'

Dean scoffed and turned his face away.

Castiel looked at him consideringly and snorted, 'At least you aren't oblivious to it.'

Dean makes a scornful noise, 'Whereas your culture is so elevated that it resorts to smuggling and slave trade.'

Castiel hums as he sits back down in the jumper's control-seat, cradling the snuffling infant against his bare chest for the comfort of skin-to-skin contact, leather jacket falling open and to the sides. 'Those words are Corsica's propaganda against my kind. Tell me, princess, how much do you know about my culture? Your heavily-censored textbooks paint a rather dismal picture. But do you know anyone personally who has set foot near the Gates?

Dean thinks of the queen regent of Corsica, his mother, and the yearning look on her face whenever anyone mentioned the Gates. That look has been the only exception to the negative diatribe that Dean has been used to hearing over the years. He remains stubbornly silent on the recollection, unwilling to bring his beloved mother into this conversation with this uncouth smuggler.

'You're not a man,' Dean says dismissively, 'your views have no value.'

Castiel slow-handclaps him and Dean notices the child startling at the gesture and waving tiny fists around, 'Quod erat demonstradum. Which is to say, you have just perfectly demonstrated what I have said about Corsica and the societal inequalities and status quo it promotes.'

'Well, you keep calling me 'princess', are you not denigratin-'

'I call you 'princess' because I think you are beautiful,' Maelstrom says bluntly. 'But if you think my intention is to mis-gender you then I will certainly stop.'

Dean blushes hotly and blusters, 'I don't care what your 'philosophocal' mumbo-jumbo intentions are but if you're thinking of trying anything, I will fight you!'

The other man almost smiles at that. 'It's adorable that you keep saying that you'll fight me when you're secured by the most complicated knotwork known. Besides, your questionable virtue is safe- there is a child in our presence, after all. More seriously, rape is anathema.'

Dean curls his lip. 'Yet stealing and killing is not below the likes of you.'

'I resent your preconceptions but acknowledge that nowhere is perfect, prince,' the smuggler says, 'But in the Gates, discrimination based on gender and race is a completely foreign concept.'

A long silence ensues. Maelstrom fusses over the little girl in his lap, and they seem to have a long silent conversation as they gaze at each other. 'Dada,' the girl says tinily and an achingly sad expression crosses Maelstrom's face, 'No, Claire-bear.' He strokes a soothing hand through the downy blonde hair on her head, and then frowns, feeling her forehead with the back of his hand.

'Is this puddlejumper even baby-proofed?' Dean says sulkily, trying not to think about how Maelstrom's good looks are only further exaggerated when there is paternal concern in every line of his body, his blue eyes warm with affectionate anxiety. This is the Stockholm Syndrome setting in, Dean thinks waspishly.

'Yes. Yes indeed, this 'jumper is baby-proofed. Oh, and I took the time to apply a million 'Baby on Board' stickers to the bumper. All while on the run from the Corsican prisons. Of course, it isn't _baby-proofed_ , you fool.'

Dean rolls his eyes and wriggles restlessly. 'My circulation's being effed up by your roughshod bondage attempts. If you're destination is the Gates then I want out of these.'

'You'll be out of them as soon as your family gives back what they took from my family,' is the steady reply.

'Cryptic much?' Dean says, sarcasm heavy in his rejoinder.

The blue-eyed man shoots him a narrow-eyed look, baby cradled protectively in his arms. 'Very well. I want to know what your family has done to James and Amelia Novak?'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tags are a little much but I thought I'd just throw them up there in case any of them stuck. Also I managed to scrape my hand which is making typing uncomfortable. Comments are love and give me encouragement to write more!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel attempts to find out more about the fate of the Novaks. Dean is not very obliging, and Castiel demonstrates why he goes by the name 'Maelstrom'.

Long seconds passed in which Dean was at a loss for words after Maelstrom had dropped his out-of-left-field question. Two sets of blue eyes continued to stare at him, one narrow-eyed and hatefully accusatory and the other all wide-eyed beguiling innocence. It was surprising that it was _Claire's_ eyes that made Dean feel like a heel, though, Dean couldn't exactly identify _why_ that was.

Also, now was _not_ the time to remember that Dean had a weakness for big baby blues especially when one pair of them was currently gunning for him in a non-sexy zero-dark-thirty kinda way.

Feeling a little hot under the collar, Dean squirmed within his restraints and scowled. 'That was bad shit,' he said finally.

Castiel- and Dean couldn't continue to call the man Maelstrom as if he was a bogeyman smuggler anymore, not while the man was literally holding a babe in his arms- looked like he wanted to smash Dean's head in.

' _That was bad shit_ ,' he repeated in dangerously low tones, his very stare seeming to deep-six Dean where he lay.

Dean licked his lips and wriggled his still bound hands. 'An example had to be set,' Dean added reluctantly.

Castiel's head lowered and he poised himself forward on the seat as if to better catch Dean's every word, his blue eyes now hard as ice. 

'James and Amelia Novak were 'an example' for what?' Castiel bit out, visibly seeming to calm himself when a lead seemed to be thrown at him. 

Dean was kinda sorry to disappoint him, not least for the very-bad no-good consequences that that disappointment would mean for Dean. He sucked in a breath and bit his lip, unnerved. 'You obviously seem familiar with them, man- what do you think they were an example for?'

'Stop calling them 'an example'' Castiel roared as he shot to his feet. Dean forced himself not to react, not to flinch, but he saw the baby's- Claire's- blue eyes widen even more. Dean expected her to burst into tears at the startlement but instead she chose to suck in a breath and yell long and loud in response, until she was angry-red in the face. And the funny thing was that Dean felt that Claire was looking straight at him instead of reacting to Castiel's outburst.

When Dean looked back to Castiel he saw that the man was once more leaning back in his chair. He'd covered his face with his hand and Dean saw his shoulders shaking. Claire was still shouting even while tightly holding onto Castiel's leather jacket with two chubby little fists.

Dean was incredibly uncomfortable with the whole scene unfolding before him, and he didn't know why.

He was also incredibly uncomfortable from being bound in this position for more than 12 hours, and feeling the ever-powerful need to piss like a racehorse.

'Is there any possibility that they are alive?' Castiel asked finally, wetly, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket, and holding onto Claire tightly with the other hand even as the little girl squirmed like crazy, twisting around in Castiel's grip as if to keep a bead on Dean.

Dean cleared his throat and did not make eye contact with Castiel- some things were not meant to be witnessed and another man's tears was one of them. 'I wasn't in charge of their case-'

'But you are prince regent,' Castiel said.

'.....my mother is Queen Regent and she has no powers in such matters, let alone her sons,' Dean said reluctantly.

There was a short pause, 'Have the Corsican laws become progressive enough to allow even that much change to the succession, or is your mother just the named puppet?' Castiel said bitterly.

Dean bristled at the man but before he could shoot back with a biting retort the blue-eyed man got back on track, 'No matter. Who do I need to strongarm for information on the Novaks then, prince?'

Dean remained stubbornly silent even as he watched Castiel coolly consider him. 

'I could torture it out of you, prince,' the man said idly, his face expressionless, cold and hard as marble.

 _I'm already being tortured by this infernal need to pee_ , Dean thought mutinously.

'I am in possession of a Dissociator,' Castiel says slowly, flexing his long fingers on the arms of the chair and tipping his head back to look down his nose at Dean.

Dean entire body freezes in shock and his voice is a dry rasp, 'Hold up- those are illegal!'

Castiel ignores Dean's outburst even as his ice-blue focus seems to sharpen on Dean even more, 'There would be a certain kind of warped poetic justice to it.'

'You're mad,' Dean said, his voice trembling and unable to break his gaze from Castiel's thrillingly hypnotic stare.

'What would the Corsican royalty do to one of their own if one of their own were to be suddenly afflicted by what James Novak came by oh-so-naturally? What would they do if they knew they no longer run the show here? What if what _I_ wanted was to watch you walk two moons, beautiful?'

Dean watches the side of Castiel's mouth tick up and his eyes darken. He stands up from his chair and sets Claire down in it, turning the chair back to starboard and away from Dean, as if to what? Shield Claire from the unspeakable torture that Castiel was about to subject Dean to?? 

'You're crazy,' Dean spits out and as soon as it's out of his mouth, he knows it was exactly the wrong to say, open mouth and insert foot in one of the worst possible cases that Dean's found himself in. It's like Dean _wanted_ to goad the dangerous convict into a psychotic break or something. The dangerous convict who is currently twirling a set of keys lazily around his finger.

Castiel cracked his neck and grinned at Dean malevolently, blue eyes once more gleaming the same bright light as when he had loomed over Dean and threatened him at the beginning of this horrible-horrible escapade/abduction. 'This is going to be so much fun. What Corsica did to the Novaks? I'm gonna take it outta your skin, little prince.'


End file.
